The Storm
by salatuh
Summary: Sometimes in the middle of the night, Sam would wake up in a cold sweat from a dream he wished wasn't a memory of his year of regret, especially with his brother mere feet away. Spoilers: Season 7 in general, season 2. Warnings: wincest in later chapters, language, some violence.
1. Drizzle

**A/N:** So I've been having this idea in my mind for a while. I mean, what other things did Sam have to forgive himself for when he didn't have a soul? How the heck did Dean deal with it all? How did it all take a toll on them?

Please read and review. There will be more to come, just have to be patient. I take time to make sure each piece of work is well put together.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything belonging to Eric Kripke or anyone working with Supernatural, sadly, including the boys. The only thing here that is mine is my imagination running wild in this rainy setting.

Warnings: Language, slight wincest if you squint.

It was three a.m., the witching hour as they called it, the rain was just beginning to patter against the one grimy window their run-down motel room carried, and Sam found himself struggling to shut the painful memories of the past year with out his soul.

They were becoming more and more clear with every nightmarish dream he woke up soaked to the bone in sweat from. It was a shame they weren't nightmares, he pled with himself that they were. But Sam was slowing starting to remember. It was safer to do so, since he pushed all of his Lucifer problems onto Castiel, who was now left as a vegetable in the care of Meg.

"God why can't I just handle himself," Sam thought out loud in a barely whisper to himself.

He started to remember all the murders he allowed to happen on his watch, his soul-less mind, justifying them as a means to the monsters behind the crimes. He had flashes of all the random women and men he fucked over the last few months without his moral compass. He painfully reminisced about the case in that town he shouldn't have ever gone back into if he was going to play smart like his brother had advised.

"Don't use the same crapper twice," Sam whispered to himself.

He sighed and turned over to face Dean, who slept on the bed nearest to the door, always ready to get up and leave in case anything happened. Sam hoped Dean did that to protect his Sammy in case anything came barging in.

Or maybe he slept closest to the door so he could get out and leave with more ease. It was a desperate hope that wasn't the reason Dean slept nearest the door. Sam hoped he was just doing it to protect Sammy.

Sam felt his forehead crease at the idea of Dean calling him that childish nickname he hated to admit he missed to hear. Dean hadn't called him that since the Arachne case. His heart began to drop at the thought of that nickname falling from his beautiful older brother's full lips.

"_Sammy," Dean breathed while brushing the bangs out of his younger brother's eyes, a whisper of a smile on his lips._

"Stop it. Stop thinking about it. It won't do any good for your already fucked up record," Sam berated himself under his breath so his quietly snoring brother wouldn't hear.

His fingers began to clench into fists at the mere split second of a memory he allowed himself to relive from his awkward teen years.

_Those deep forest green eyes were like smooth jade. He had never really looked at Dean's eyes this way before. He had never been this close to his face to be able to see them so clearly and deeply._

A tear began to fall down Sam's cheek.

"Stop it Sam," he said to himself, shutting his eyes and turned to face the wall again, pressing his fingers into the cut on his palm, hoping it was Lucifer just fucking with him, making him remember all those painfully wonderful memories. He knew somewhere deep down he was punishing himself for all the horrible stabbing wrongs he cut his beloved brother's heart with in the last year.

He murdered innocent people.

He let Cas take his crazy because he was too weak to deal with it anymore.

He slept with all those people.

He betrayed his Dean with each and every patchouli, blonde, and married woman or man he got with just to get off.

He lost his trust.

He lost his best friend.

He lost his role model.

He lost his affection.

He lost his love.

Sam felt the hot tears of his frustration, guilt, disappointment, and disgust with himself slide down his face. Dean was less than six feet away from his bed sleeping, and Sam had never felt so distant from him in his entire life.

The rain sounded like dull needles against the window.


	2. Clouds

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. But yeah, here you go.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, sadly.

* * *

The case hadn't gone as planned for them, to say the least.

The clouds were starting to look heavy and grey as Dean parked his baby in front of their motel room for the week.

Dean sighed and turned to look at his pissed off-beyond-belief brother … covered in shape-shifter goo. He tried not to laugh at the sight. It was almost adorable.

"Come on, Sam. Get over it. It's not like it was the first shape-shifter son of a bitch that chose to copy my handsome face," Dean said with a slight smirk. Of course, he knew part of why Sam was so upset. The damn thing nearly killed his little brother. It kind of shocked him to be honest. Sam usually wasn't so unfocused. It was only a shape-shifter, after all. But he knew, he knew there was something else. He just didn't want to even think about it. He couldn't afford to, anymore. Not after that year with out his real Sam, the one sitting next to him, arms crossed, right knee bouncing in anger at him.

Sam just clenched his jaw harder than it already was – hard enough to crack walnuts – then got out of the car with out a single look back at his brother and stood impatiently in front of the motel room door, arms crossed.

Dean watched him for a few moments through the mud-speckled windshield and sighed once more before getting up to open the door, looking at the dirty as hell window of the motel room before he pushed the door open and waited for his Sammy to get inside.

His Sammy. Dean looked up at Sam from under his lashes as he moved rushing to the restroom, watching how his strong legs moved underneath him, jeans covered in mud. He sighed, wishing he got to the shower first. Or maybe they could share one.

No.

_What the fuck are you thinking, Dean? A shower, really, with your brother? _

Dean knew that wasn't what truly upset him about the situation. Not anymore, at least.

It was that he knew Sam would push him away if he tried.

Sam had been doing a lot of that to him, lately.

Sam slammed and locked the flimsy restroom door behind him. He slid down the wall, the palms of his shaking hands running over his face and into his dusty hair.

_Of course he wouldn't get it, he wasn't there, _Sam thought, trying to calm himself down. _He didn't have to listen to the fucking memories us being told by his clone. _Sam wrapped his arms around his knees and put his head to them and took a deep breath.

_He didn't really touch me that way … again. _

Sam really shouldn't go back in time to that sewer the first time a shifter took Dean's form. It was too difficult for him. His brother telling him he was a traitor, even if it really wasn't completely his brother, there was a part of him that believed it was true.

But Sam couldn't help but reminisce that night, after the first shifter, when Dean came and sat next to him on their shared motel room bed … It was so easy back then to just simply push his head under Dean's stubble-ridden chin and find comfort in those arms surrounding him …

"_It's ok Sammy, I've got you," Dean said quietly, one arm over his crying brother's shoulders, the other reached up to dry the tears that were falling off his face. _

_Sam just curled himself more into the arms, listening to his protector's steady heartbeat. _

"_It's, ok. I've got you. I've got you," Dean shushed him and rocked them both slowly on the bed until Sam began to calm down, sighing shakily. _

"_It wasn't you," Sam started as he pulled out of Dean's embrace. He looked into those deep green eyes, then sighed and continued. _

"_I know it wasn't. But, man, the things it said – about us – about me. It was hard, you know? To think it wasn't you. I'll shut up now," Sam said ducking his head and looking at his hands held in Dean's. He tried to pull away, but Dean wouldn't let him. _

"_Hey," he said. Sam looked back up at him. Dean smiled and rested his hand on the back of Sammy's neck, bringing him closer. _

_And closer. _

"_It doesn't matter what happened back there, I'm still here, aren't I?" Dean's breath was on his lips. Sam stared into his brother's soft gaze and nodded smiling in return. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," Dean breathed and brushed his lips over Sa-_

Sam slapped himself across the face and felt the fallen tears there.

"Damn it, stop Sam. Just stop thinking about it," he berated himself under his breath.

Dean knocked on the door.

"Sam?" Dean called through the wood and knocked again.

"Shit," Sam breathed and shook his head against his knees. "What the hell do you want, Dean?" he called out to him.

"Jesus," he said, and hesitated. "I was-" did he really want to say it? Did he really want to say he was hoping his Sammy was ok? That he wanted to hold him again, just like the last time? No, he couldn't. This was not the same Sammy from a year and a half ago. This was a beat up version of him. Beat up because of him. "I was just going to say I'm getting dinner," he coughed and leaned against the door.

Sam got up and leaned against the door.

"Then go get dinner."

"All right, then."

"All right."

A pause filled the air as both brothers leaned against opposite sides of the thin wooden door.

"I'll be back in a few. Try not to hog all the hot water, I want some of it when I get back," Dean huffed and turned away, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and index fingers. "Damn it." He looked down at his jeans and decided it was probably better to change before he left looking like he just got out of a mud-wrestling match.

He heard the water turn on, and Sam's scream:

"Fuck, FUCK that's hot!"

Then chuckled to himself shaking his head, and walked out of the motel room.

Dean frowned and his shoulders sunk looking at all the mud on his baby's rims, then looked up to the sky muddled with rain clouds.

_It's gonna rain, soon, _he thought, then got in to drive to the nearest diner for some pie and peace of mind.

"Damn it," said Sam out loud at his reflection in the restroom mirror. His fingers dug into the sides of the sink, letting the water in the moldy shower warm up before he went in.

He began to peel of the muddy, goopy clothing from his body. Sam made a face at the pile of clothes on the floor and stepped in the shower with out hesitation, anxious to get the stuff off him.

"Fuck, FUCK that's hot!" Sam screamed to himself and jumped out of the scalding hot water. He turned the cold knob until it unstuck and touched the water until it felt bearable, and began to lather himself with the little bar of motel soap.

He heard the motel door close and let out a heavy breath.

_Why do the shifters always have to look like Dean? _He asked himself. His hands found the tiny bottle of shampoo, and he poured some onto his hair.

His mind wandered to the day's events in that fucking abandoned barn, the shifter's lair.

"_You know, He loves your hair. He'd never admit it to you, but he loves running his hands through it when you fuck him - I mean - used to fuck him," the shifter Dean chuckled as he straddled a tied up Sam's hips, and put a hand to his hair._

"_Fuck you," Sam spat in its face. _

_Shifter Dean slapped him hard across his cheek. Sam groaned and looked away._

"_Oh. I forgot, he knows you loved it when he did that to you, too," a maniacal grin splayed across its face. Sam kicked his legs attempting to rid of the shifter from his body. "Now, now Sammy. Let's not get feisty here."_

_Sam fought against the ropes around his wrists._

"_You don't get to call me that," he hissed._

_The shifter moved his hands through his hair once again, before pulling on it hard and bringing his face mere centimeters from Sam's. _

"_Oh, that's right. Only Dean gets to," he ran his tongue along Sam's flushed cheek, and then nibbled his ear. "How long has it been since he called you that … Sammy?" He whispered then chuckled as Sam thrashed. _

"_Get the fuck off me, you asshole," he said through gritted teeth. He really wished Dean would show up. The shifter was wearing down on him. He couldn't handle being called that from it, this thing that was only a shadow of the Dean he knew and loved. _

_God, where the hell was Dean? _

_Suddenly, the shifter was thrown off him. Dean stood there, an angry look on his face, and the barrel of his rifle up against the shifter's forehead. _

_Dean was there to rescue Sam, again. _

"_Fuck you, get another meat suit," Dean shouted, before shooting the shifter with a silver bullet through the skull, and splattering Sam with its goo. "Whoops," he looked wide-eyed at Sam and then began to laugh hysterically. _

"_Yeah, Whoops Dean. Get me out of these," he spat some goo out of his mouth. "And at least shoot it where the spray won't hit me next time," he added with a cough as Dean crouched down beside him undid the knots around his wrists._

_He shivered slightly when Dean touched his wrists, and then shied away. _

_It had been a long time._

"_Why do I always end up saving your sorry ass?" Dean smiled and looked to his Sammy._

_A tension filled the air as Sam stood up and the brothers locked gazes._

"_Dean-" Sam started moving a hand up towards him. _

_Dean quickly interrupted with a cough into his fist and stood up, looking away and dusting his knees off. _

"_Let's get going, yeah? My baby's sitting in a giant mud puddle out there because of you," he glanced back shortly and tried to smile and make light of the situation. _

_Sam got up and followed him, pissed off when Dean walked away to their car with out a second glance back at him._

Sam sighed and let his head fall back into the shower's water head. At least he felt cleaner, and more upset. What a fucking situation.

Dean walked back into the room with one hand holding a good old-fashioned grease-stained brown paper bag holding a delectable looking cheeseburger, and the other holding a chicken salad in a box for his brother.

Sammy was the only man he knew that ate like a chick; he chuckled to himself at the thought: Sammy, the chick man.

He set the food down at the table, an iced tea in the middle, and sunk down into a lumpy blue desk chair.

Sam walked out of the shower at that moment, 30 minutes after Dean had left for food, with just a white towel around his hips.

He stopped and stared at Dean sitting down his eyes looking anywhere but him then coughed and turned to his duffel bag to search for clean clothes.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, paying extra close attention to the grey t-shirt he picked out for himself.

Dean could feel his ears burning red from seeing Sammy in nothing but a low-hung towel around his hips.

_What a jerk, _he thought. _Is he trying to make things worse?_

"I got you a salad, Mr. health nut," he chuckled nervously before grabbing his burger. Dean couldn't help himself and watched his brother get dressed out of the corner of his eye. His breath caught when the towel fell from Sam's hips, showing his sculpted backside, then gulped when he bent down to pull on a pair of black tight fitting jockey boxer briefs.

_Fuck, calm down, Dean. Think of crying babies, or werewolves, or Sammy hunting a werewolf. _

"Stop it!" Dean said under his breath.

"Stop what, Dean?" Sam said turning around to see Dean staring hard at his own knees, burger in hands.

He snapped out of his train of thought, looked up to Sam, dropped his burger, and rubbed the back of his neck then coughed.

"Uh, nothing, Sam. Just – just come eat. Don't want your salad to get all mushy or whatever," he muttered.

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother, who was taking off his leather jacket, revealing a hint of his muscled torso from under his black V-neck. He sighed, clenched his fists and sat down to eat across from his big brother.

The round table was small, small enough for Sam's knees to barely touch his brother's when he sat down.

Dean stilled, his breath caught in his throat for a moment, and then slowly shifted his legs away to the side. He focused diligently on his burger and fries.

Sam picked at his salad; his wet bangs hid the color from his face when Dean moved away. His legs felt cold with out Dean touching them.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Mhm," Dean hummed around a mouthful of fries.

They both reached for the drink at the same time.

Their fingertips grazed against each other, and Sam and Dean for the second time that day, locked gazes. It was like an electric current ran through their hands, and sparked when their eyes met. Heat ran through both of them like a wildfire that landed in their hearts.

God, it had been so long.

Dean pulled away first, his eyes dropped and he got up.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he somehow managed to say.

Sam stood grabbed his brother's shoulder, stopping him.

"Dean, wait," he turned around to face Sam, but kept his eyes to the grey floor. Sam moved to put his hand under Dean's chin, but he turned his head before he could.

Sam's hand dropped like a heavy weight by his side. He simply couldn't look into those green eyes that stared up at him incredulously now.

"I need a shower, Sam. Have the damn iced tea," and Dean turned.

"Damn it, Dean. This isn't about some fucking tea and you know it," his voice was raised and quivering. His chest was heaving. Why was his breathing so hard, like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs?

"Not now, Sam."

"Why not? Why can't we ju-"

"Because I said so!" Dean rushed up into his space and pointed an accusing finger at his chest. Both of them were breathing hard. Adrenaline rushed through their veins. His eyes were blazing with anger, and fear, and an indescribable feeling he wanted urgently to push down.

"Dean," Sam sighed, shaking his head slowly and placed a hand at the back of his brother's neck bringing him closer.

Dean gave up resisting. Sam, his Sammy, always knew his weak spot was the back of his neck. He leaned his creased forehead against Sam's chest and drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart. His palm curved around his brother's shoulder.

"I can't, Sam. I just can't," he breathed out, his head shaking from side to side.

"Why?" Sam sounded so broken.

Could he really tell him? Could he tell the man he loved so much about how hard it was? How hard it was to be so close the shadow of the man he was with out a soul, trying to understand logically it wasn't his Sammy that was doing all those things to him? Could he tell him how much his heart literally broke when he saw his brother with another, just because he was bored? Could he tell him about all the times his soul less body came on to him with out a single touch of love? Could he tell the man in front of him now that had no memory of that dreadful year and a half with out a moral compass, that he had hurt his big brother, and not cared about it at all?

How could he simply do that to his Sammy? How could he tell him the ugly truth about the things he did that he never would have done if he had his soul, his generator of emotion and love?

No, he couldn't. It would hurt too much.

"Just let it go, Sam," Dean said, and gently shoved away from his brother. His shoulders sank and he walked slowly to the shower, clicking the door shut behind him.

Sam felt the tear fall down his cheek, and let it fall to the floor. He sniffled, squared his shoulders, and took out a little red and cream-colored box with a big K on the front from his backpack, the liter inside.

He turned and walked out the door, and sat on the hood of the impala.

He didn't exactly remember when he started smoking, not that he did it often, but he did when the times were simply too difficult for him to deal with.

Sam tilted his head up to the sky and let out a breath of smoke and sighed.

It was definitely going to rain that night.


End file.
